In nineteen sixty four, my grandfather and my uncle went on a camping trip in the Appalachian Mountains, which they had done countless times before. They hiked for about half a day until they reached the place we called the Devil's bowlt In the Devil's Bowl, regardless of the time or day or night, it is darker than any part of the forest, no matter what season you passed through. There is no wildlife and no sound. It's a dead section of the woods, and when possible, they tried to
avoid it, but they were losing daylight quickly. To make it to their destination before nightfall, they took a shortcut through the Devil's Bowl, a decision they would regret. They began to hear noises almost immediately, a branch breaking here, or rustling in the leaves there, and a clacking of rocks. By the time they reached the Devil's Bowl, surrounded by the dark forest that enveloped them like a blanket, they
heard something pacing them step first step. My grandfather thought it was an old holler boy pretending to be a woodburgger, trying to divert them away from their moonshine or marijuana grow, and he didn't pay it much mine. But the further they got, the louder and closer the noises became. First, little pebbles started bouncing off their rocksacks, and then the pebbles turned into larger rocks, big enough to hurt if
they got you in the right spot. At that point, they could see the outlines of something moving all around them. My grandfather pulled his pistol and chambered around, counting at least five of what he thought were people. As he watched them circling, he saw a big rock flying through the air, heading for my uncle's head. He pushed him out of the way and raised his pistol and he shouted,
we're just passing through. We don't mean any harm. Before he even finished his sentence, a growl echoed through the ball so loud it forced the air out of their lungs. These were no moonshiners, he realized. He looked at my uncle, who was pale as a sheet, and his eyes fixed over my grandfather's shoulder. He spun around, ready to take on whatever troublemaker was out there, but he was not prepared for what he saw ten yards away was a creature eight feet tall, built like a linebacker in a
gilly suit, only three times bigger. He had knotted black hair dangling off his body in dark, piercing eyes that shone in the dim light and ripped through my grandfather's soul. His hands were all the way down about its knees, and he was swaying side to side, and his teeth were out like an angry dog. My grandfather yelled out again, we don't mean you any harm. Were just passing through. He and my uncle locked arms and they tried to leave. My grandfather trained his pistol on the beast in front
of them. He began walking. The beast roared again, a deafening cross between a wampus cat and a grizzly bear. In Mama's howls when she was pissed off. My grandfather thought on his feet and he roared back. Now this was a big mistake. It only infuriated the creature, which began moving toward them. As my grandfather and uncle crested the rim of the bowl and reached the top, they
realized they had walked into this creature's front yard. There was an igloo like structure made of tree limbs and logs and sticks and leaves, and several sets of eyes were peering out. The creature started charging them, but my grandfather didn't want to shoot because it looked too much like a man. Instead, he shot above its head, but it only raided the beast even more. It ran straight into them, sending them both flying, and when they landed, my grandfather jumped to his feet and ran over to
cover my uncle, who was reaching for his pistol. He yelled at him not to shoot, but his words fell on deaf ears. My uncle rattled off six shots, the rounds tearing through the center of the beast, all six shots finding their mark. The click of the pistols hammer slapping the backs of the spent rounds as my uncle frantically squeezed the trigger over and over. The creature collapsed and all hell broke loose. There were creatures coming from
every direction, running full force at them. The earth sh the roars and screams and bellows cracked through the forest, setting off alarm bells to any other creature in the valley. My grandfather fired a shot in the air over another beast's head that was down on all fours, running straight forward them. The animal veered off to the right down
over the hill. My grandfather spun around and saw another one charging It knocked him off his feet before he could react, and broke his ribs as it collided with him. He hit the ground and then staggered over to my uncle, who was covered in blood and slash marks on his face and chest. They made it to their feet again as the beasts started to surround them. One of them
charged my grandfather, sending him crashing to the ground. Another slammed into my uncle, sending him flying in the opposite direction. That's when he realized only then that there was no possible way to make it out without fighting back, and he got up and found my uncle, thinking he was dead, dodging rocks and branches flying through the air as he
reached him. My uncle wasn't moving, he was bloody and battered, and then ignited something in my grandfather, who spun around and fired around right into the head of the creature closest to him. The howling and screaming intensified. My grandfather started dragging my uncle to the base of an old hickory tree, smacking him, trying to bring him around while
digging through his pockets for his handkerchief. He tied it around the deep cut in my uncle's forearm, and then checked how much ammunition he had, knowing he would have to shoot his way out. Another one of the beasts charged him. My grandfather fired at it, making it fall and crumble into a ball at the base of a tree. Two more creatures charged from opposite directions, dropping down to all fours and springing from side to side. They were
closing fast. My grandfather was all adrenaline at the moment. He squeezed the trigger, whipped around, and shot again, neutralizing both threats. The forest went quiet. If there were more beasts, they weren't making themselves known. He began to drag my uncle to his feet, his ribs searing with pain, and thinking to himself that he had killed the entire group and that he could be responsible for wiping out an entire species. They managed to make it back to the house,
where my grandmother tended to their wounds. I could still remember the pain and sorrow in my grandfather's eyes as he recalled his encounter to me. He said he wanted to return to that area to apologize and see if the species had lived on, but he knew that was not an option. If any of them were still alive, they would have certainly killed him for what he did. My uncle never talked about it, had scars on his chest,
and he rarely wore a short sleeved shirt. My father told me not to ask him about it and said it happened in the war. He passed away when I was twelve years old, after battling a lifelong alcohol and a drug addiction. I don't know whether he was trying to escape the events of the Devil's Bowl or for another reason. My grandfather died when I was eighteen. He was an honest man. He fought in the Korean War, and he worked in the coal mines for forty seven years.
He never missed a day's work and was always busy fixing things up or finishing projects that couldn't wait for tomorrow. He was a true mountain of a man and one of the best men that I've ever known in my life. In October of twenty nineteen, I had just finished my shift at a local with over one hundred and fifty milking cows. When I was done, I locked up the place and I headed for my car. I was annoyed, knowing I would have to lock the chickens away in
their coops in the darkness. We kept them on the field across the road from our house, which was fine in spacious during the day, but at night it could be difficult because there were no lights. I climbed in my car and I rang my mother to let her know that I was on the way home. I set off, driving through the rural villages, all of their lights glowing from behind closed curtains. I turned onto a long, straight,
but bumpy road and slammed on my brakes. A large black animal darted in front of my car, and it leapt across a small ditch, and it vanished into the night. It had a round head that had green eyes and a long, slender tail. I got out and used the flashlight on my phone to see over of the ditch, hoping to get a look at it, but the woods
were dark and silent. The creature was long gone. My mind started racing, and I rushed back to my car and I locked the door and I sat there for a few minutes, trying to figure out what I had seen. I ruled out the badgers and the foxes and deer and wild boars and any other animal I could come up with, and I knew it was far too long and tall to be a dog. I started thinking of some British cryptids I had heard about, and I realized
I had seen the beast of x Moore. I had heard stories of these large felines said to roam the country killing livestock. I remembered seeing some rather blurry photos, but I had never given them any serious thought until that moment. I rang my mother immediately and I told her what I saw. She was shocked, and she asked if I was okay. My dad wasn't quite convinced, nor was my little sister. When I got home, I locked the chickens up as fast as I could, worried the
beast was out there watching me. The next morning, at work, I mentioned it to my boss and some of my fellow workers, who looked at me like I was losing it. I knew then how most bigfoot witnesses must feel. I kept the story to myself for a while after that, but I'm sharing it now because who cares what anybody thinks. You don't know me anyway. I know what I saw, and no one can tell me different. If I ever make it over to the United States and I see a bigfoot, I'll let only you know. Thank you for
joining me on this podcast. Once again, I really appreciate everyone who's listening this far. I'll be putting out another podcast early next week, so until then, hope you guys have a good week, hope you've had a good Thanksgiving weekend, and we'll see on the next week. Thank you.